


Better Than This

by orphan_account



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: A sprinkle of pichabros, Angst, Fluff, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by depressing real events, Just angst and pain, No slash tragically, Real Madrid CF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-17 20:34:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16981347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Isco has been struggling for months now, but Wednesday's match was the last straw. The Bernabéu was up in roars for him, but it wasn’t the usual cheers and chants of his name. It was something much worse.





	Better Than This

**Author's Note:**

> So Isco's current situation inspired this. I'm just honestly sad about the whole thing, he deserves better than this. 
> 
> This is also my first fic, be kind. Not beta-ed.

He ran until his lungs gave out, he asked for the ball, he pushed his teammates to attack, but no one was up there anyway. And when his chance to change the scoreline finally came, he failed. 

He couldn’t believe he missed that chance, he was truly the piece of shit the media has been labeling him for the past few weeks. Solari’s scapegoat. 

He tried, it’s not like he didn’t try. God dammit he tried, and he wanted to cry. He had his right leg poised to shoot at the net, but two defenders came hurling in at him. As soon as he hit the ground, he heard the noise. 

It wasn’t the usual cheers and chants of his name across the Bernabéu, no it was a horrific noise he’d never heard before. 

They were whistling him. They jeered and booed him for missing the team’s only chance to score, and he was fucking livid. 

He could see it was only the section behind the net that was whistling, and as he got up from the wet grass, the whistles were louder. He looked at them and asked, “What? What do you want?”. He wanted to rip his hair out of frustration, couldn’t they see he was trying hard enough? Couldn’t they see he would do anything to succeed? Couldn’t they see he only got back from surgery two months ago? Regular people rested for 2 months before lifting a heavy finger, but no, he knew he wasn’t a regular person. He had to fight and train, with tears and sweat for weeks before he could play again. And when he finally did come back, his favorite coach was fired. 

Isco didn’t hate Solari, no, he actually felt for the guy. He knew he was trying his best to put back a team in shambles. But he also knew Solari didn’t like the kind of player Isco was, he wanted more direct play. So before he even stepped into that locker room, Solari simply didn’t count Isco in his plans. And Isco did understand, except he spent the last 5 years fighting the very same kind of person. Solari isn’t the first coach to doubt him, Zidane did and Ancelotti did before him as well. 

Contrary to popular belief, Isco wasn’t an idiot. As much as people like to say so, he realizes something is wrong with him. He didn’t know how to pinpoint it, he was afraid, and that very fear clawed into his heart for years. It struck its vicious claw 5 years ago and it kept digging deeper until it ripped him apart. 

Until there came the day where his own fans, whistled at him. He couldn’t take it anymore, he trained and worked for hours. Yet, nothing came of it. Solari never wanted to give him a chance, maybe Madrid, never wanted to give him a chance. 

For 10 minutes, the whistles didn’t stop. But, he didn’t stop either. He ran and asked for the ball at any given chance, until the referee blew his whistle, signaling the end of the match. 

And only then, did he breath. Isco sucked in a deep breathe and walked to the other end of the pitch. The whistles were now targeted at all of them, the Bernabéu simply wasn’t used to losing 0-3 against a team standing last on their table. 

He finally reached the dressing room and sat down at his locker defeatedly, he put his head in his hands. 

“Isco? Are you okay, bro?”

Isco lifted his head to find the source of disturbance, and of course it was Asensio. The kid had a big heart, he loved him- but he can’t stand to have a conversation with anyone right now. He wanted to be left alone to lick his wounds in peace. 

“Yes.” He replied, with a weak smile. 

“You know this is one match, we’re better than this. We’ll continue to fight.” Marco said while gesturing with his hands wildly. 

“I know Marco, thanks.” 

Marco finally sighed in defeat and shrugged his shoulders, before patting his head and leaving to change. 

After spending some more minutes wallowing in his misery, the world decided to add some premium flaky salt into his wounds. Solari walked in looking determined, the squad all sat down to listen to another useless lecture about fighting for the title. He didn’t bother to give one look into Isco’s direction. When he was done lecturing, Solari finally walked out with his staff. 

Then Isco finally decided to get up and peel off the sweaty, now turned into cold and disgusting wet kit he had on. 

After showering, he put on his clothes as fast as possible, in order to avoid any plausible conversation with anyone. He saw Carva eyeing him while in the showers, and he knew that look- he wanted to talk. 

Isco sat down on the bench to tie his shoe laces, as soon as he saw Dani Carvajal marching across the room to him. He looked down and focused on the shoes- because tying shoes is important. 

“Isco.”

“Yes?”

“You’ve been tying and untying your shoelaces for 5 minutes now. Give it up.” Dani said, softly.

“I have not- look, Sara is waiting for me back home. I promised her I would walk the dogs today. I’m sorry, but I have to go.” Isco replied while darting his eyes from Dani’s lovely hairy face to the exit door. Finally, Isco decided to turn his back to Dani and grab his bag and keys from the locker.

“You’re not going anywhere. We’re gonna talk, whether you like it or not. Don’t make me bring Sergio in this, you’re better than that.” Dani warned.

“Okay. I don’t want to do this here, though. Please let’s just get out here, I can’t fucking breathe.” Isco exasperated in defeat, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Okay. Okay- let’s go talk in my car and I’ll drop you off home.” Dani replied with worry gnawing at him, this was more serious that he thought. He squeezed Isco’s shoulder and he nodded at the door. 

They walked to the car, in what felt like hours instead of minutes, of time. Unfortunately, on the way out they had to pass through the mixed press zone. And questions were thrown at Isco in every possible direction. But, the malagueño kept his head down and walked in silence. Finally, they reached Dani’s car. Isco opened the door to the passenger seat and buckled himself in, before looking up at the roof the car and wishing for god to just open the ground to swallow him whole. He really did not want to talk about this. The last thing he needed was pity. 

“Alright, I want you to be honest with me here. You’re my best friend and it’s killing me to see you like this. Please talk to me, Isco. What happened? Did you really yell at the stands?” Dani asked with his thick eyebrows turning into curved brackets of worry, he really just loved Dani’s eyebrows.

“Yes and no. I yelled at the referee, but the whistles got louder. Fuck, Dani- I’ve never heard that ugly noise in my life to be that loud. I felt like I was gonna drown in it, I was angry- I was frustrated. I told them to go louder.” 

“Oh, Isco.” Dani said, while looking at him mournfully. And that- exactly that is what Isco despised. The pity. 

“I don’t need your fucking pity right now. If this is what you hounded me for, then fuck off. I’m leaving.” Isco replied harshly, his face twisting into an ugly shade of anger before reaching toward the door handle. 

“Calm the fuck down and leave the door. You’re truly a god damn idiot. I’m not here to pity you, I could have done that at home with a text. I love you, you imbecile of a human being. I care about you, we all do. Because as much as you think you’re alone in this, you’re not. I’m trying to figure out what’s wrong, so I can help you. So please do tell me Fransisco, what is wrong?” 

Isco looked at Dani’s unimpressed face for a whole minute, racking up his brain for an answer. He truly felt pathetic, he couldn’t tell him he didn’t feel worthy of playing at his team anymore. He’s been in emotional turmoil, for months now. Last week, he felt better than Solari, he felt like he deserved to play. Then this week, he felt like shit. And next week he’ll probably feel like a flaming hot trashcan. He also hadn’t seen Isco jr for a month, he saw him yesterday for a couple of hours that were mostly spent napping. He missed his child, more than anything in the world. Junior lived in Málaga with his mother, a deal he agreed on when they split. He deserved to grow up somewhere nurturing, with a caring mother- and not only a father who’s concept of nutritious children food is canned apple juice. Isco also trained in the gym, for two hours a day- more than most of his teammates. Yet, everyone called him fat. Because his body wasn’t designed for blinding six-packs like most of his teammates. He worked and sweat his body to exhaustion in each and every training session, yet Solari didn’t deem him as ‘fit’ and hardworking enough. He was honest to god just tired, so tired of this. 

“I’m tired, Dani.” Isco finally said, his eyes clouded with unshed tears. He tried to shake them off by looking into Dani's eyes, trying to convey the shit-fest of emotions he felt, then a traitorous tear spilled onto his cheek. 

Isco was quick to wipe his cheek and clear his throat, he was acting like a god damn hormonal teenager. Isco didn’t cry, he never cried. Once he broke his arm in 6th grade while playing football in the streets, and he had to walk all the way home alone, holding his arm and yelling, every time he stepped on the uneven streets that jolted his broken arm. He did whine of course, he was great at whining. But never crying, his mother did however, cry in horror at the state of her son’s wellbeing and rushed him straight to a hospital. 

Isco must’ve let a few more tears slip out, because Dani suddenly had engulfed him into a chest crushing awkward hug. He couldn’t reach him properly because they were in a fucking car after all. Dani ran one hand through his hair, while the other had the back of his sweater in a death grip. Once he felt that hand in his hair, running back and forth- he broke. Isco finally decided to let go, when he wrapped his arms around Dani and then proceeded to smush his face into his chest. 

By now, Isco was ugly crying into Dani’s chest, and he felt a few of his own tears also slip out. He couldn’t bear to see his friend in such state, it was killing him as much as it was killing Isco. 

After a few minutes, Isco’s sobs had turned into quite little hiccups. He lifted his head up and wiped his face, before muttering, “This is fucking embarrassing.” 

“It’s okay, you needed this. Don’t feel bad.” Dani replied in a croaked voice, cuing Isco to look at him in surprise. The bastard then cracked a smile and said, “You cried with me, didn’t you? You big softy.” 

“Shut up. Mention this to anyone and I’ll murder you in your sleep.” Dani threatened, before brushing away Isco’s hair from his face. 

“You can get through this. You’ve been here before, you know what to do. We all believe in you, Isco.” 

“Te quiero, Dani. I’ll try, thanks.” Isco said, while fumbling with the ends of his sweater like a child.

“I love you too, idiot. Now let’s head home.” Dani replied with a soft smile.


End file.
